Notes on the Harvest (Plus, Cool Stuff Offered By My Friends)

I realize that I often mention what's happening outside my window when I sit down to write a newsletter. Perhaps it's simply easier to begin a conversation by talking about the weather. I think there's more to it than that, though...

Telling you that the trees at the five-way crossroads where we live are whispering about the coming October with gold-flecked tongues seems important. I want to set the scene because strong stories depend on generating a sense of place. In fact, I think the land and the elements are actually characters in my daily writing, especially when I'm writing in my own voice and sharing what is on my mind.

And then there's the fact that I believe in the practice of land acknowledgement and naming the people who lived here before colonization.

The Esopus tribe, part of the Lenape nation, thrived upon this land before the French and Dutch settlers arrived. They spoke the Munsee language, but their name is all that is left here now. Those native peoples who survived wars and dislocation were forced to take their language, culture, and stories to Wisconsin and Ontario, far from the Hudson River they knew to be Mahicannituck. 

In light of this, it's interesting to think that my family actually lives in the town of Esopus, but the vagaries of mailing addresses and school districts cause us to tell folks that we live in New Paltz. The story of the colonizers shapes the story in one more small way.

The little that I do know of the people who would have hunted, gathered, and planted in the Hudson Valley comes from school field trips with my kids. It seems we always enter the replica wigwams and longhouses when the corn and gourds are being harvested.

There's a shared fascination with harvest time. There's an earthy truth that we need to acknowledge and celebrate (even if the modern harvest in the Hudson Valley looks like traffic jams caused by apple picking day trippers). We are creatures of the turning seasons, even if our pumpkin spice comes with orange dyed sprinkles.

A Rich Harvest of Ideas and Innovation

I'm so grateful to be standing in the midst of so many creative beings whose visions are coming to fruition right now.

Yesterday, we began a thirteen-week journey in the Sovereign Writers’ Knot.

As one writer put it after our group's first writing session (paired with art by Theresa Vee):  

Feeling EXACTLY like this painting after our session today!

And, as this special group of nine writers begins new projects or deepen their relationship with existing, in-process work, I'm so happy to watch other friends, colleagues, coaches, and clients out their creations into the world:

• Biz Cush, an alumna of my Sovereign Writers' community, is rebranding and relaunching her podcast. Perhaps hanging out with women who speak of the princess, queen, and wise woman had an influence on the new name?
  
  Awaken Your Wise Woman promises to be a great new show from this veteran podcaster, psychotherapist, and women's life coach. I had the honor of turning the tables on Biz and I got to interview her for her first episode. Listen to our episode and subscribe to the show!

• My former coach, KC Carter of This Epic Life is releasing his first book, Permission to Glow: A Spiritual Guide to Epic Leadership.
  
  I had a chance to reconnect with KC and soak up a few thousand jolts of inspiration this weekend. I'm excited to get my copy this Tuesday. And don't just take my word for it. Ani Difranco (yes, the singer who created her own label and is the voice of a generation of feminists) calls it: "Freakin' EPIC! This book teaches many of us how to lead, and all of us how to truly live."
  

• And finally, my current coach Jeffrey Davis is also releasing a book this week: Tracking Wonder: Reclaiming a Life of Meaning and Possibility in a World Obsessed with Productivity. 
  
  On Satuday, Jeffrey is hosting a free half-day online event this Saturday, 10/2 called The Wonder Summit. His guests include Rev. angel Kyodo williams and Danielle LaPorte. It would be wonderful to see you there. Register today.

To your harvest, to your stories, to your sacred relationship with the land on which you dwell,

Marisa

Words are Weightless. Words Shape the World.

Talk might be cheap, but we’ve built a global civilization on language.

We are constantly asking the little collections of letters that take shape in our mouths, on the page, and on the screen to make meaning for us. 

We ask our words to express and request, to convince and calm, to incite and invite. 

From captions to hashtags, from in-depth reporting to clickbait headlines, from books to blog posts, from vows to offhand comments:

Words cast a spell.
AND
Words are just noise occasionally studded with punctuation.

We’re always caught between the inestimable value of words and their inherent worthlessness. The question then becomes: how do we consciously ride those waves of paradox?

How can we imbue our words with wisdom, tune into sources whose words have meaning, and develop the discernment it takes to turn away from false prophets, the empty promises, and the bullshit artists?

It takes Sovereignty.
It takes Community.
It takes Practice.

Since 2018, I have been on a mission to help writers, healers, and seekers find a haven in the midst of the noise where they could gather and write.  Over the years, this group has been known as the Sovereign Writers Circle and the Sovereign Wisdom Circle.

The ongoing community has always been about more than “just” writing, however.  The goal has never been about word count or publication. Instead, I invite people to the page in order to meet themselves, to make meanings of their vast experiences, and wrangle their dreams into a vision that could shape the world. 

It’s about uncovering the story only you can tell. That’s your sovereign story, after all.

Coming together with a trusted community of like-hearted beings who value mind-body-soul over profits-fame-praise can change everything. You’re allowed to be vulnerable, to experiment, to write to heal and know rather than relentlessly earn and grow.

In the past, I marketed my writing group specifically to entrepreneurs since we need to tell compelling stories to call in the people who can benefit from our transformational work. Ultimately, we always returned to writing the stories of the heart. In the new iteration of the group which begins September 29, we’re going to let the words lead the way and ask the business stuff to take a back seat.

Finally, developing a resilient, insightful relationship with your own words takes practice. 

This particular collection of lines took me all morning and has resulted in this post and a longer something that may or may not ask to emerge in the world. Either way, there’s not a wasted word there because practice is essential to the writer’s process.

We’d love to have you with us in the Sovereign Writers’ Knot this autumn (or spring, depending on your spot on the globe). Learn more about everything I have planned for us over the next three months.

If you’ve been longing to make writing part of your life or want to make real progress on a project, this is place to be in the season to come.

What Story Is Mine to Tell Right Now?

Whenever I find myself spinning in circles and I have the urge to write,  I ask myself:

What story is mine to tell right now?

This is the essential question, whether my mind happens to be looping with anxiety or leaping with inspiration. 

(Have you noticed how they both tend to buzz at the same frequency? The nerves of worry and the nerviness of creativity are easily confused. When I ask this question, there’s a better chance of moving toward healing and productive cross pollination. That’s when the words finally start to flow.)

So Much To Say, So Hard to Find the Words

From my experience, “what story is mine to tell right now?” is the only place to begin when you feel the pressure to put words on the page and feel wordless at the very same time.

Here’s something we tend to forget when we’re overwhelmed and there is so much to say, either because the brain is swirling too fast with worry or soaring with new ideas: we writers can only set down one word at a time. 

“One word at a time” is the blessed miracle and the maddening flaw of language. 

We are forced to condense the immense and the ineffable into clusters of letters, limiting it all down to discrete, interconnected units of ideas. With time and focus, we spool a narrative. We can throw ourselves wide open to the expanse of sentences, stanzas, and stories. 

Here’s what might happen when you dare to ask, “what story is mine to tell right now?”

When I ask myself this question, I am almost always surprised. 

Sometimes, I need my journal and quiet hour. I must fill the page with rhetorical questions, nonsense sentences, and magnificent, revelatory errors of all kinds.

(When I wrote into this prompt yesterday, I definitely scrawled “when I know when I must right…” Cringe! But look what was revealed in that misspelling! Oh, my obsession with being correct, even on the uncensored pages of my own little green book)

Sometimes, the words take me to fairy glens and eighteenth century drawing rooms.

(Ok, so the novel got stalled in the transition between the endless 18-month summer and the uncertain fall, but there’s a book brewing, and it’s the story I was born to tell. When I give myself the freedom to describe a sacred well made of starlight and sphagnum moss or invent a whispered conversation between the countess and the peddler down the lane, I trust that I am making magic. You transform the very fabric of the world when you conjure and describe you own visions, stitch by stitch and word by word.)

Sometimes, the words come out seeking their place in the marketplace, issuing invitations to come play. 

(I’ll be the first to say that the “real writer” in me rolls her eyes at this naked display of capitalism, but then I remember that we live in a both/and universe. As the Irish poet Rita Ann Higgins says, “poetry doesn’t pay,” but the mortgage still comes due. And so, I ask my words, as they emerge one letter at time, to call in the writers, the healers, the dreamers, and the sovereignty seekers who will hear my song and use these ideas to add to their own. So, next time you see my images on Instagram, do read the captions, too. They’re lovingly crafted by a writer trusting the story that wants to be told.)

Sometimes the story is a text to a friend. Sometimes it’s an email to my grandpa. Sometimes it’s a note I stick in the lunch box in case second grade feels hard today. 

And sometimes the story that is mine to tell must be silently pounded into the pavement or held by the trunk of a beloved tree. Sometimes the story that is yours to tell is not yet speech ripe and will not come no matter how fine the pen, how quiet the room, how inspirational the view.

Trust the story. Trust the moment. Trust yourself.

The words will come in their own time, as they always do: one at a time, in a jumble or a flow. They will carry you onward to the story you must tell.

“What story is mine to tell right now?” is just one of many questions I pose to the dreamers, healers, and seekers who long to build a writing practice and birth their stories into the world.

In the Sovereign Writers’ Knot, the newest incarnation of my online writing community, you can find the the space, time, and company that will help you bring your words into the world.

We are welcoming new members through September 29. Learn more and apply now.

Untethered and (Dis)Connected: How to Return to Your Creative Path On Your Own Time

That crunch.

You know it. I know it. Everyone who has owned a ridiculously fragile electronic device that goes everywhere and is relied upon to do almost everything knows it.

The crunch that you hear when the screen hits the floor.

On Labor Day Monday Monday, I felt that sinking dread when my Apple Watch slipped from my fingers and fell face down on the tile.

For over two years, that little piece of wildly powerful technology has been securely fastened to my body. It’s own tracking data will show you that I would wear it for well over 12 hours per day. And, if you don’t have access to the app, you can see it in the pale strip on my arm where the freckles have faded after years under cover.

Now it’s Thursday, and though I am fully clothed, I feel naked. 

I have no idea how many calories I have burned, whether I got a text in the three minutes since I picked up my phone, or what the temperature is outside. It will take me more than two taps to figure out exactly when my next menstrual cycle begins. If you call me and I don’t have my phone on me, I will not be able to answer you by talking to my wrist like Penny in Inspector Gadget.

I am realizing the depth of my addiction to that tiny glass square. Well, the glass was just the vehicle. My real addiction was to quantifying the success of each day based on my move goals and the illusion of constant connectivity.

At this point, I am not sure if I am uncomfortable because I feel so disconnected or if I’m uncomfortable because I have to reckon with being so addicted to machine that monitored my every move.

Either way, this is not how I planned to land post-Labor Day.

I am untethered. I am lost. I am free.

Of course, I am more than my history of shattered Apple products. It’s also the first week of school. And I am suddenly realizing that after eighteen months of certain uncertainty, the prospect of five days a week of school is immensely challenging.

This return to “normal” is what we’ve been yearning for. Why is this so hard?

Sure, there’s the chance that schools will close or either of the kids could be quarantined for weeks. There’s a chance that Covid could be more than a mere inconvenience as we see infections rise in children. It’s hard to get excited about the new routine when a stray cough could bring the whole fragile arrangement crashing down.

I am so dazed and unfocused. I can’t seem to shake the “I need more tea and then some chocolate and then some pretzels before I answer this next email” state of mind.

It’s more than vicarious first day of school jitters, though. 

Instead, I realize it’s immense pressure that comes with “Psst, Mom! It’s finally quiet. Go be outrageously successful and accomplish every single one of the professional and creative things right now so you don’t fail at post-pandemic reentry!”

Back in the old days (like over the weekend), my watch could help me track when anxiety would set my heart racing. I don’t need the heart rate monitor to tell you that there are too many stress hormones in my system right now. (Oh, hey, maybe I’m already learning to live without that device!)

There are too many stress hormones in our collective emotional system right now. While we have a lot to be stressed about, some of that pressure is self-imposed and truly is optional. Like the pressure everyone puts on themselves during new beginning moments, like the end of summer and the return to school.

So, if you’re a parent and are feeling the press of “I should get my business/creative practice/self care routine up to 117% because the kids are finally back where they belong,” I see you. I feel you.

Regardless of whether we have kids in school or are going to class ourselves, September is a chance for many of us to begin again. We can all use a little more self-compassion right now since it’s far from easy to get back into the post-Labor Day routine.

I’m holding hands with all of the writers, creatives, and entrepreneurs who are staring into the next season wondering how on earth you’re going to find the energy, focus, and confidence to get out there and make the next thing.

Here’s what we’ve learned (since March of 2020 and throughout our lifetime as sovereignty seekers, word witches, and all around weirdos):

• The old rules don’t apply any more.

• The old structures cannot support us.

• The old routine can’t be revived in the same old way.

If the timepiece that used to help us make sense of the world cracks, we need to find a new way to navigate our lives. 

In this early September moment if you can’t quite find your center, find your muse, or find your pen, remember this: your lack of inspiration, motivation, or imagination is not the problem.

What if it’s the relentless press to be productive and commodify every free moment that’s the problem? What if it’s the equation of busyness and self-worth? What if we must finally, once and for all, smash the foolish belief that everything is going to feel “normal” again just because we landed on a certain date or reached some artificial milestone?

What if you didn’t have to start today, but you trusted yourself and believed that in your own time, you’d settle into a new cycle of being, making, doing, and creating?

---

When it is time to set off on your own creative path — as a writer, as an entrepreneur, as a seeker looking to understand your own story in a new way — I’d love to help.

The Sovereign Writers’ Knot, the new iteration of my online writing community, opens again on September 27.

The Story Illuminations Sessions are a great 1:1 option if you’re trying to figure out just where to start and need to heal some of the old wounds that hold you back from stepping forth on your creative path.

It's Time to Tell Stories That Are Rooted In the Earth

Last night, I helped my dad put together a slide presentation for his condo association. He’s passionate about bringing in solar power to fuel their community energy needs.

This past weekend, my husband and I looked out on our beloved backyard and wondered together about how we could make our family’s life more sustainable. We’re thinking about changing the way we buy and use electricity, how we can change our eating habits, and what food we can grow in the years to come.

As headlines about ecological catastrophe and systemic climate change vie with the latest Covid spikes and variants at the top of every newscast, these conversations seem inevitable and necessary. 

We all need to talk about our relationship with the land, with our resources, with survival, with creating a world where our children and their someday children can thrive.

Right now, I don’t know how to tell a story that isn’t rooted in the soil, soaked in the rain, singed by the fires, and aware of the climbing temperatures.

I may not be writing about the climate directly, but I find I am always in conversation with the Mother, with the Earth, with all the unseen interactions between humans and nature.

When we were visiting Maine last week, my aunt gave me three plants. 

A white sagebrush from my mother and a periwinkle from my grandmother that grew beside the houses on Cape Cod where I grew up. Both homes have since been sold. And then, a primrose that my great aunts grew on Prince Edward Island. That place is still in the family, but it’s not possible for us to cross the border to see the Canadian cousins right now.

Three plants from forbidden gardens, from patches of land that have become inaccessible for one reason or another. 

Three living beings that I can tend and touch, cultivated by beloved gardeners I can only visit in my memories.

Three delicate root systems I can protect and pray over, that (hopefully) will help me keep my family history alive.

How’s your relationship with the plants and soil that surround you?

I find myself wandering between my flower patches right now. I talk with the trees that have been here for decades longer than our house. I check on the perennials I have planted in my time here. I welcome these new plants and celebrating the bittersweet legacy of growth and change they represent.

This sense of finding solace and purpose amongst the blooms and blossoms is new to me. I’ve tried to make the place look pretty for the thirteen years we have lived here, but I usually tend to lose interest by August. Luckily, when September rolls around I can stick a new crop of mums in the ground to cover all the worn summer blossoms.

It’s different this year, however.

My new devotion to this rocky soil and the flowers I coax from the dry earth is inspired by my increasing awareness that our global environment is in trouble, surely. There’s something more to it, though. Something more personal and even more primal. 

It was my husband who helped me see another dimension of the story. During our conversation about the future of the planet and how we can be better citizens of Earth, I marveled at how my relationship with our nearly two acres of garden, lawn, and forest had deepened over time.

“Isn’t that part of becoming the crone?” he asked. “The wise woman?” (Why yes, that guy I married has read—most of—my book.)

I write about the way we’re princess, queen, and wise woman through life in The Sovereignty Knot, of course. I write about how the concerns of the queen shift to encompass the awareness of the wise woman. The story becomes most true as you live it, however.

As my girls grow older and my business matures, I find myself switching gears. I don’t have to engage in constant mothering and I’m finding I’m less concerned with being the in-control queen. At 42, though I certainly have lots of queen energy in my life (and princess energy too), I am consciously moving into the wise woman’s sense of being present and receptive, into the crone’s sense of conscious care and divine surrender.

This planet needs us all to step into our wisdom in new, beautiful, challenging ways.

We’re being called to live a bolder, wilder, more compassionate story. We need to focus on the plants outside our door as we think about the ecosystems that enable us all to breathe. We need to set down the old ways of being and open our arms wide to a new devotion to the world as-it-is.

We’re going to need to get more centered and more Sovereign than ever so we can make the choices that support the human and the non-human collective. 

As I’ve said before in many spaces, Sovereign is never meant to be a synonym for selfish. Instead, it’s an interconnected system of sovereign selves that can transform and heal this world.

Let’s be sovereign beings for the beautiful, burning sovereign world. One seed, one story, one wise act of creation at a time.